"The Lion is sick.

May Allah take pity on him!" Narayan Singh growled in his beard by way of submitting to the mild rebuke, and Ali Higg--a little bit impressed perhaps--proceeded to question me on doctrine and theology, showing a zeal for splitting hairs that would have done credit to a Cairo _m'allim._ But I had had lots of instruction on those points, and in fact surprised him with a trite fanaticism equal to his own, ending with a statement that whoever did not believe every article and precept of the Sunni faith not only was damned forever beyond hope, but should be despatched in a hurry to face the dreadful consequences.
His eyes softened considerably at that; and for the moment I think he almost approved of me, in spite of the foreign accent that must have grated on his ears, and his national dislike of any one who hailed from India.

He actually told both of us to be seated, and clapped his hands again.

Another woman came, looking dreadfully afraid of him.
"Coffee!" he ordered.
We sat down on the ledge of rock in front of him, for although it was hardly wise to seem too deferent, it would have been most unwise to move away and give him an unobstructed view of the valley, where Grim might be in sight or might not be.

Our job was to gain time.
He did not say a word until the coffee came, beyond swearing scandalously when he moved his head and the boils hurt.
"O Allah, may Your neck hurt You as mine does me!" I thought that pretty good for such a hard-and-fast doctrinaire, but it was almost mild compared to some of his other remarks.
The woman brought the coffee on a tray in little silver cups--as good and as well served as if our host were a Cairene pasha; but our irascible host took none, for Ayisha called out and warned him not to, saying it would heat his boils.
She came like the wife of Heber the Kenite, who slew Sisera, "bringing forth butter in a lordly dish." She held in both hands a marvelous Persian rose-bowl half filled with clabber, saying she had prepared it for her lord herself, and offered it to him on bended knees.
I could not see her face, for her back was toward me and she had her shawl over her head; but I thought of that little vial of croton oil Narayan Singh had given her instead of poison, and the Sikh caught my eye meaningly.
Ali Higg was pleased to condescend.